


Scraps

by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo Card 1 [11]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Clone Wars: Gambit Series - Karen Miller, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: A prequel of sorts, Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Blockading, Chapter 2 is Plo and Wolffe, Clone Trooper Whump, Cody Whump, Contemplations of Surrender, Eye Injury, Forgetting to eat, Gen, In War Most PEople DIe of Disease Exposure And Starvation, Isolation, Killing Clones, M/M, Pining, Realities of War Folks, Sadistic Choice, Starvation, The Codywan is crumbs here but its definitely there, Total War Concepts, ambiguous ending, hopelessness, obi-wan whump, torture reference, unrealized love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29855079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12/pseuds/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: “I did eat, Cody,” The General said, “There are others in the camp who that mouthful will mean more to.”
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & Obi-Wan Kenobi, CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Plo Koon & CC-3636 | Wolffe
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo Card 1 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123604
Comments: 8
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amyntas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amyntas/gifts).



> OOP and we're back, folks! :D   
> This is BTHB: Forgetting to Eat for Amnytas on Tumblr :) 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think! I do reply to comments, it may take me some time!
> 
> Find me and my bingo card at this name on tumblr :) Requests are always open

Cody chewed on the end of his ration bar, bit of its dried out completely and flaking off into his mouth as he did. It was truly the bottom of the barrel, the stamped expiration date on this ration bar preceding any mission in recent memory. He had never been more grateful to have it.

He had half of it actually, the other half he had passed to General Kenobi, who had taken it from Cody’s hand with a nod of thanks. He didn’t eat it immediately, using his other hand to push stringy, unwashed hair back off of his forehead instead, looking out from the outcropping where they were stationed at the blockade of Separatists below. Every so often, a blaster bolt would fly by them, burying itself into the cliff face or one of the crackling tree trunks that seemed to be the only vegetation that existed on this planet. They weren’t meant to kill anyone, least of all the General who it was clear they intended to take captive. They were simply a threat. A reminder.

He left the General to make his mid-afternoon rounds. Two weeks here and they had fallen into some semblance of a routine. Patrol squadrons, scouting missions, the bulk of the time spent on trying to send out coded communications before they could be blocked by the Separatists. Cody thought that they had managed it once, but unless something came of it, there was no way to know for sure.

Eleven days later and nothing had come of it yet.

The men he walked by were starting to take on the impacts of the landed siege. They had been pinned down for two weeks now, out of direct communication for slightly longer, and now, looking down from this cliff face, they were surrounded on all sides by the enemy. The men had creases of worry on their faces when they were out of their helmets, fingers that itched over blaster rifle triggers and restless legs that made sleeping difficult on the best of days. From this vantage point, surrender seemed inevitable. For clones, surrender rarely meant anything but death by open fire.

It was the reason, Cody was sure, that the General had insisted that they hold out for as long as they had. To have faith that the communication they had sent to General Skywalker about their predicament had actually reached him and that he would return with the support that they needed.

In the meantime, they were starting to waste away. It was subtle, only an undercurrent to the anxiety that permeated the camp, but its presence was looming larger with the passing hours. It was most clear in the men who had already been leaner. There was an off-duty soldier, leaning against a tree in the shade with his eyes closed who’s breathing was even and heavy as Cody walked by. In his face--less scarred than some of the ones who had been with them since Ryloth—Cody could see the lines that their days of rationing already inadequate food had done. His cheeks were hollow, skin hollowed around his eyes and tight across his brow. He wasn’t resting easily, twisting around his stomach to keep pressure off of it. 

They had eaten the fresh food first, saving all of the preserved rations they had until the fresh had been completely wrung dry—portioned out until it was well past its prime. Then had come the ration packs, a quarter of a pack per man per meal. Then the bars, meant only as meal substitutes. Half a bar per man per meal. Cody had just given the last half bar to the General. The Seperatists meant to starve them out, and they were about to succeed with it. How long before the men started collapsing from lack of food? How many days could they gnaw on grass and leaves and the bitter roots that Helix had found growing around the rock cliff facing before those ran out, too? How long before the General gave himself up and they died at the end of rifles instead of from the gnawing ache that had already been persisting for days?

Cody didn’t know the answers to those questions. He could see the questions, plain as day, written on the faces of his men. There was hope their too, and they looked up as he came around, perhaps expecting news that a supply runner had come through the blockade to get to them. Instead, all he could offer was a nod and receive one in return, passing by them to go to the next group.

By the time he had circled everything, gone in and out of all of the tents, scanned over the backside of the cliff for a potential escape route he knew did not exist, it was nearly dark again. Another night of ignoring his own body’s protests and aches, needing fuel and energy to keep up this demanding schedule he was currently leading. Another night for him to force himself to ignore it altogether.

When he returned to the front side of the encampment, Obi-Wan was still there. He was sitting now, in what Cody could recognize as a traditional meditative pose. Of all of them, he looked the least affected by the changes, but the damage was still there. He hadn’t bene sleeping, and despite what others might have thought, Jedi still required food to live.

Even so, the half ration bar that Cody had given him rested uneaten on his knee. It looked as though he had broken off a piece, scarcely the size of a knuckle, but otherwise it remained untouched.

“General,” Cody said, announcing his approach. The General looked up at him, his expression almost guarded and Cody felt a twinge of self-irritation at having interrupted him. But it melted with the change in Obi-Wan’s eyes to a soft smile. “You didn’t eat.”

“I did,” He insisted quietly, and lightly touched the ground beside him. Cody sat down, unsure but unwilling to argue. Closer to the General now, the changes that he could see in the men were more easily reflected. His eyes were cast under with dark circles, his hair unwashed and unkempt and far from the perfectly polished look in which he usually kept it. Though his beard disguised most of his cheeks, Cody could see that they were slightly sunken in, a barely pronounced concave curvature on his face.

“Is it the last of it?” He asked, once Cody was seated, both of them looking down and over the hundreds of droids and carriers and bombing equipment that encircled them. An army of metal, one that never slept or ate or felt and had an eternity to wait on their surrender.

“Yes,” Cody said, “Which I why I must insist you eat it, Sir.”

“I did eat, Cody,” The General said, “There are others in the camp who that mouthful will mean more to.”

Cody’s thoughts immediately went to the young trooper leaning on the tree, the yellow paint on his armor still fresh. A glance at Obi-Wan’s face told him that his thoughts were not quite so solitary.

“We cannot hold out like this forever, Sir,” Cody said, “That is the more important question here.”

“When to relinquish hope?” He said it dryly, but there was little humor in his voice. “If we surrender, they will kill the men. And we will be taken captive.”

“Yes,” Cody swallowed back a sudden tightness in his chest. How would it be, to know that he would survive while his men were murdered in his sight? To know that only by luck, only by the fact that he had been bred for more advanced work than they had, that he might live through this? And as Prisoner of War, alongside his General, alongside Obi-Wan who was undoubtedly one of the most hated people in the galaxy to a Separatist. How meaningless would this short starvation be in the wake of that sort of torture?

“It does us no good to concede early, then,” Obi-Wan spoke as if he had just made the decision then and there, that this talk with Cody had been the final justification he had needed, “There is a chance that Anakin will arrive any moment.”

“Boil thinks that they might be able to get out a new coded comm message out by morning, Sir,” Cody said, feeling the weight of false hope in his voice. “There is still hope.”

“Of course there is,” The General nodded, and closed his eyes. For a moment, Cody thought he had started to meditate again and considered leaving him where he was to walk back to his cot. But Obi-Wan’s voice stopped him.

“If they take us, Cody, I won’t let them hurt you,” He said, in a tone so full of certainty that Cody could say nothing in argument. What could he do to stop them? A half-starved, unarmed Jedi. And why would he risk anything to do it? Torture was part of being a prisoner of war. Pain was part of the life of a soldier. He thought of Wolffe, of how he had lost his eye, and that renewed his certainty that if that was their fate, he could resign himself to it.

“No, Cody,” And again he realized that his thoughts were not solely his own, though Obi-Wan didn’t seem to be reading them with any intention. “I will keep you safe.”

Cody felt tightness creeping across his chest, twisting there with an almost unfamiliar twinge. He didn’t say anything, couldn’t really, but he didn’t protest. It was loyalty, he knew, to him and the men. That if he couldn’t save all of them, he would do everything he could for them anyway. He would do his level best, even if the odds were increasingly stacked against them. He would do what he could for Cody, in the same way that Cody had realized long ago that he would do for him. A thing unspoken, weighted and wordless, that hung between them.

He waited a few more minutes, sitting in silence on the hill until the light was almost completely gone and the men would be changing around who was on duty. He stood, a worrying stiffness in his joints that stemmed from the hunger that wouldn’t fade.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan’s voice again, even though his eyes were once again closed. He lifted the remaining bar to Cody’s palm, “For the trooper you were thinking about.”

“Sir, I—”

“Please,” Obi-Wan said, cutting off the final protest.

“Yes, Sir,” Cody answered, and nodded, swallowing back the feeling of desperate gratitude and swelling hopelessness that warred together in his chest.


	2. Several Years Prior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I referenced this in the first chapter, how Cody knows about being a POW from what Wolffe went through, so I wanted to touch on that while also answering another request! 
> 
> I didn't write this as Plowolffe (sorry, anon!) but you do you! I don't know the canon behind Wolffe's eye injury, so I totally wrote my own here. I hope it did it some justice :) 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! P;lease R and R, let me know what you think!

“Is this your first time, Sir?”

Master Plo Koon turned to his Commander, regarding him as best he could in the dim surroundings. He was afraid, and understandably so—Waking from a drug induced haze in a Separatist war prison had certainly not been part of the mission plan.

“No, Commander, this is a first for me as well.”

His voice roused a second trooper from his sleep, the man scrambling as best he could to sit up with his arms bound behind him. He didn't have a name as of yet, and last he had seen him--seen any of them--he had been in the command tent with he and Wolffe, looking for the list of munitions deliveries. He and Wolffe were tied together, as best he could tell, while he was anchored to the wall behind him with the assistance of a force restrictive collar. He wondered how far he might pull on it until it began to shock him.

“The long necks told us what to expect if we were taken captive,” Wolffe said gruffly, and he watched as he physically resisted the urge to roll the other clone back where he was leaning on him for support, “I won’t give them any information, Sir.”

“Let us hope it doesn’t come to that.”

The room faded into quiet and he did his best to do a sort of meditation. He had not realized how reliant he was on his force connection to be able to start the trance, a fact that this was a most unfortunate moment to learn. But try he did and the moments of quiet that had seemed almost smothering in his post-sleep haze instead became more calming. There were hints of the force, still there, still reassuring even though he could not reach them. Other Jedi. They knew they were here.

That brief moment of realization, more than anything else, reassured him that they would—at the very least—survive this ordeal. But the thought was cut short as the door to their cell slid open. Three pairs of droids marched in, lifting each of them from their holdings by the arms to carry them out. The young trooper, the one who had been tied to Wolffe, was glancing around wildly as they moved through the hall, his fear apparent.

“Relax, soldier,” Wolffe muttered under his breath and Plo couldn’t help but be grateful for the small reprimand. The troopers behavior was setting him on edge, more so even than the droids who carried them as much as pulled them into an interrogation space.

What waited for them was hard to describe. It was more droids as could be expected, but also a Separatist Admiral of a species that he couldn’t identify. They were completely non humanoid, eyes set on the far sides of what he assumed was their head, mouth open in a vertical slit that showed short, sharp teeth with triangular edges. Whoever it was observing the three of them pushed and fastened by their arms to a wall that held only mounts and a series of stains that he hoped that Wolffe and the young trooper hadn’t noticed. On the very edge of his mind, he could feel the flare of panic in their minds and new that was a meaningless hope.

“Bring the Jedi to me,” He was pushed forward, cold metal hands in the center of his back, until he was beside their captor, who paid him no mind.

“Why are there two?” They had a raspy voice, high-pitched and thin.

“We brought everyone in the command tent, Sir,” One of the droids answered.

“Which one is the Commander?” They asked, and squinted at the clones. Plo was fiercely grateful that Wolffe had not been in his Commander dressings when they had been taken. They were subtle markings, but they would have been enough to give him away.

“We-ah-don’t know, Sir.” The droid answered, its head turning to the two clones on the wall. Wolffe had his eyes set in a hard stare while the other man looked as though he were on the verge of a panicked breakdown.

“I don’t need both of them,” They said, almost softly. There was a beat of silence, then its attention turned to him. “Which one should I keep, Jedi?”

He could feel his stomach drop seemingly into his boots. It took quite a bit to unsettle him now—after nearly 400 years of life, he had found that there was little remaining that could make him feel truly magnanimous emotions like the ones that he could feel now. Perhaps it was his trooper’s face, which had settled into a mask of pure panic.

“I will not do this,” He said, and looked to Wolffe, trying to gauge his reaction. The Commander knew. As well as he did. This would not end well. Eventually, a choice would be made.

“You Jedi are insufferable,” They said, and made a gesture with some sort of appendage to the group of droids. Two of them stepped forward, pressing blasters to their temples. “The clones are a formality, Jedi; tell me which one is best to keep or watch them both die.”

He swallowed, trying to feel at the edge of his senses how close the other Jedi might be. How long he could delay this, in the hopes that it would be enough time.

“If you follow this line of action, I will answer no questions.”

“If that is true, then I will kill them both now.” Nothing for a moment, “Which one?”

“It’s him,” The voice came not from him, or the Separatist interrogator, or any of the droids, but from Wolffe. “He’s the Commander.”

“If he’s the Commander, that means you die, clone,” The interrogator said, the word clone almost spat in a whispery hiss.

“I’m aware of that,” Wolffe answered, eyes unblinking. The other trooper looked astounded, but his features were drawn with fear and he said nothing. “Got no reason to lie, then.”

“Is that so?”

There was a low buzzing sound, and Plo noticed for the first time the presence of a small round droid, hovering around the edge of the cell. A torture droid. One of the droids moved a remote in their fingers and the ball moved towards Wolffe, hovering inches from his face.

“There’s only one way to see if you’re lying,” The Separatist said and the droid started whirring.

“General,” Wolffe said and looked at him, face held fast between the blaster barrel still pressed to his temple and now the torture droid whirring in front of his face, “Please general, tell them.”

But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. To speak would be to condemn Wolffe to death and he couldn’t make himself speak even at Wolffe’s sharp gasp as whatever the droid was doing made contact with his face.

“Are you Commander Wolffe?” The interrogator asked.

“No,” Wolffe gasped out, the droid holding the blaster to his head reaching out a hand to hold his head still as the droid worked him over.

“Is this other trooper Commander Wolffe?”

But instead of an answer, there was a sharp intake of breath and a sound that grated over his nerve endings. Plo found himself frozen, powerless to stop it, powerless to stop the interrogation. Unable to answer.

“Yes,” Wolffe finally said, and Plo, his view blocked by the droids, could see a splash of red through them. “He is.”

He screamed then, a sharp piercing scream, and swayed on his feet until the droids caught him.

“Please stop!” For a moment, Plo thought he had said it, that he had lost the little control he had retained over himself at this torture, but then it registered that it was the other trooper. “Please; he’s the Commander. I’m just---”

But a blaster shot cut the end of his sentence short and a terrible stillness came over the room.

“Him, I believe.” The Separatist said, and waved a hand that had the torture droid moving away from Wolffe's face. 

The trooper was lying on the floor in a heap, limbs piled on top of themselves. And Wolffe…The entire left half of his face was split open, blood running down his face from a gashed open eye socket, panting loudly, barely standing as the droid beside him kept him propped against the wall.

“This was all avoidable,” The Separatist said, their tone as cruel as their words, barely loud enough to register, “Well,” A noise that must have been a sort of laugh, “Most of it anyway. Now,” They gestured again to the droid who lifted Wolffe up by his front, pressing him back against the wall. “For the questions I have.”


End file.
